Like Stars
by SirensToSailors
Summary: "And just remember that although we are alone like stars, we are together like constellations." Sometimes your home isn't in a house or a city or a world, it's in a person you never could imagine exists. KilixOC Warnings: (in later chapters) graphic sex (no slash), dark/adult themes, coarse language SEE INSIDE FOR ADDITIONAL WARNINGS! lots of music/art/literature references :')
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 (Kili)

The first time I see her, she looks all kinds of extraordinary. She is not from our world, that much is certain, even before I can begin to examine what this fact actually means. There is something quite – off – about her. Although she is human, not creature, she does not seem entirely real. A hallucination maybe, although how my mind could fathom such a thing is anyone's guess. The hallucination girl is tall, the same height as me, little over 5 feet. Her eye level appears to match quite evenly with mine. She is thin too, much too thin for any inhabitant of this world. It is the kind of thinness that comes from living apart from war, where muscle is by no means necessary, and I suppose being slim is a beauty. Her slight build makes everything seem sharper on her – collarbones defined, jaw angular, eyes bright. It should be an unattractive feature, for there is little feminine softness on her, but somehow this works in her favour. At least in my eyes, anyway.

But surely the hallucination girl would be found attractive on any earth. Her eyes, though they seem jarringly intense and dangerous, are a contrastingly rich and warm brown, pupil ringed with amber. They are unusually dark on her face, for her skin is ivory pale, and her hair a light gold tinged with red. Her lashes are recognizably dark as well – perhaps artificially – and are long and curling, grazing her eyelids as she widens her eyes. She is looking at me! Well, perhaps glaring would be a more accurate description. Her gaze is accusatory – as if she thinks it is my fault she has materialized here? You're a hallucination, I think, and you cannot blame your beholder for said apparition.

Perhaps what is more unusual than her strikingly pretty face is her choice of clothing. I wonder how she is not shivering, for it is winter here, and she bears no thick cloak or long skirt. Her dress! It is scandalously short, just above the knee, revealing fair legs and white boots laced with black, and although I cannot deny in the delight she should appear so deliciously exposed, I feel the hasty need to remove my eyes from that area immediately. The dress itself is white, with a floral pattern on it. Surprisingly delicate, in fact. I see little of what the bodice or sleeves look like, for a faded blue shirt has been almost carelessly tossed about her shoulders. She also carries some sort of pack over her shoulder, material of which I can recognize as soft brown leather. This is perhaps the only item on her person I do not see as foreign.

She is a foreigner herself, really.

She does not appear friendly.

"Who the fuck are you? Where am I? What..what is this..who? _How?"_

Her voice is like air, far too pretty and high pitched for someone so fierce, or for someone with such common language. It is a princess's voice, but she snarls like a wanted outlaw. The sound is strange from those pretty pink lips of hers.

I decide now to be a good time to introduce myself, common courtesy taking over my shock and confusion, and the fear rooted somewhat in me that there is black magic involved. No, I will not think on that.

I see her falter a bit when she hears my name, and my confession that I know little more than her of what has happened, but am willing to help. It is now that I see the wildness in her eyes – she is hunted, like a doe taking down an arrow. I feel the sudden urge to calm us both, and almost involuntarily reach out a gentle hand to her. She recoils, but it is with less malice and more just reflex. We are, after all, complete strangers.

"I won't hurt you," I promise, trying to sound sincere, though my voice cracks a little as she turns the potency of her gaze up. There is no angry confusion now, but there is hard acceptance and a degree of scrutiny as she sizes me up.

We can both feel it when she relaxes. She is still on her guard, I can feel the mistrust like a mist around us, but her stance becomes open and her fists unclench. Her features soften a little too, making her look less warrior princess, and more simply the latter of those two terms. I am unsure what else to say, so simply offer to guide her to where the rest of my company is. Little resistance is offered as she follows me, and I sneak glances at her every so often. The rest of the company are only a minute or two away so I walk slowly as to steal more time with her. I do not know what the rest of the company will think. Or say. Or what she will do in return.

And from the looks of her, she is full of surprises.

...

WARNING – quick author's note (you don't HAVE to read this)

This story circulates around the inexplicable arrival of a human girl from our society into the time and setting of The Hobbit. This is mainly movie-verse, and follows the essential storyline from Mirkwood onwards. I have been fairly sketchy about several details, including how my OC arrived there. This is because as I writer I much prefer to focus on characterization and the development of relationships between characters, and as a reader, I also enjoy reading writing that does not waste too much time discussing logistical detail. If you do not agree with the way I have written the story, feel free to review and say what you think, but be aware I have no intention of changing the layout or style of my writing, as this is a story written mainly to cure my own boredom, and I only decided to post it on here because I thought maybe a few others could get some enjoyment out of it as I have.

POV is split between Kili and my OC.

Rated M mainly for later chapters, the story starts innocently enough, but darker material is inevitable. Will contain graphic sex (het only, no slash), coarse language, adult themes, and references to mental disorders, self-harm, suicidal behavior, violence, incest, and probably other scary things ;)

All characters belong to the genius Tolkien, except for my OC.

I apologize for any grammar/spelling mistakes that may have escaped my knowledge and attempts at proof reading.

Hope you enjoy! Or rather, I hope you won't hate me…or my story :O


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 (Kili)

An eventful first meeting that was, there is no doubting in that. After nearly half of an hour, during which there has been screaming, swearing, clawing, growling, arguing, debating, philosophical discussion of the workings of the universe, glaring, confessing, and finally pleasant conversation in the last ten or so minutes, I now know a sight more about the hallucination girl. She is not in fact, a hallucination, although she is a girl. A "person" she called herself, and when Dwalin asked if that meant she was a human, she replied with "Who are we to define what humanity is?"

Clearly a human.

Just one who likes deep and philosophical musing.

Also, although she is a human, she is not from Middle Earth. She is from a place called Fremantle, Western Australia, on a 'planet' called Earth. Not middle earth, but just earth. This caused for logical discussion of whether our Middle Earth is somewhat contained inside her Earth, but this became far too difficult and unfathomable to reason with at the present. When we meet up with Gandalf, they said. He will have an answer.

Of course Gandalf so rarely reveals these answers, but we can only hope.

It occurred to me at some stage that we were all without a name to call her, so I found the voice to ask.

She is called Morgan. Morgan Carlyle.

Even her name is strange.

As is this forest. Mirkwood is as sinister as the name might presume, and I feel the heavy pressing weight of its secrets and magic bear down on me like a shroud. It covers the whole forest, and though it is a forest with trees and rocks and calling insects and brown earth, just like any other forest, there is something entirely diseased about it. Death, even, whispers in the air. It chills my very bones, and though I can see the rest of our party looking similarly rattled and sickened, Morgan seems to shrug off the ominous atmosphere with a sense of disdain and aloofness. She walks slightly apart from us, dipping her head to some kind of internal rhythm contained within her, and her features betray little thought. Only her eyes betray her, darting back to look at Thorin every so often. Although it was never officially mentioned to her, she too has identified him as the leader of our party for which she is now a part of. Really, her perception is quite astonishing, as is her ability to adapt. I suppose that is why the treacherous folds of this ever-extending forest seem to offer her no disturbance – she has had stranger experiences this afternoon than most.

I am quite openly staring at her again, I realise. She is not looking, of course, though her green iris fleetingly examine every falling leaf and scraggly branch, she is no longer curious or wary of me, or any of the others either. I don't know why this bothers me, but it does. I want her to look at me. Although for that to happen he would surely realise I've been gazing at her far too long to be proper, and the last thing I would have is for her to doubt my intentions. I have always been bold, and reckless too on many an occasion, but my need to do something _right_ for once is overpowering in this instance.

I want to talk to her.

What do I say, though? Any attempt at wooing her would be misguided and wrong, although I should perhaps like to try, one day. No, it is not that, I am simply quite entirely fascinated with her, and to know more…would satisfy me to no end.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 (Morgan)

He's pretty hot. The dwarf who calls himself Kili, who introduced me to this strange party of his, and now has commenced the immense duty of staring at me for the past hour without me noticing.

I noticed.

But I notice everything. Not to boast or anything, although I guess it's not something anyone would usually boast about, but I am unnaturally perceptive. I just like observing things. It interests me, people, the world, nature, society. Because you can't record all of it, can you, or remember it all. Everything gets forgotten. All those hundreds of thousands of people you walk past every day, the guy who winks at you on the train, or the girl in the big yellow raincoat who passes you on the street, or the baby who blinks with wide eyes and flails grubby arms about the place, catching your shoulder. You see them for a moment, _and then they disappear. _They aren't even a memory anymore, because you won't remember them for more than a few seconds until you see something else. All those people who pass you by, and you'll never know who they are, or where they came from, or what they're doing. It's quite sad, actually. It's like everything fails to exist in immortality. Everything is a moment, a brief glance, fleeting thought, and then oblivion. It makes me want to record it, to paint it_, to see it all_ and not have to forget.

But I can't, so I make do with storing little observations in my head like filing papers. Only observations about people and things I have a feeling I will be around for a while. Like the strange creatures I am travelling with now. Kili in particular.

I notice him staring, of course. He isn't the first, and he won't be the last. He certainly won't be the only one around here. Everyone here stares at me, although I guess for different reasons. I suppose I do look pretty weird, here in my short dress and doc martens and denim shirt. I look young, as well. At least I appear tall. This is a phenomenon in itself, really. I'm tiny. And yet I am as tall as most of the men here. Kili, perhaps, the tallest, is maybe a few inches taller, but not much at all.

It's quite refreshing being tall actually. I can see why the humans back home liked it. I didn't mind my height, before, but now I don't ever want to go back to being the cute little blonde midget again. That gets tiring pretty quickly, and being on eye level with every man here makes me powerful. I don't look at them much, because I like seeming remote and uninterested. It's easier not to get hurt. But it's not hard to steal a few glances at the ones who attract my attention. The other tall one, Thorin, who is clearly the leader, has the same dark hair and eyes as Kili. He is older though, although not unattractive, just the sort of oldness that comes from seeing too much in a short time. Too much battle, by the looks of it. Too much fighting and death and family problems and pride issues and who even knows what else. He looks like an asshole, actually, but a wise one. A good leader. Every good leader has a bit of asshole in them. Otherwise nobody would listen to them. If you want people to follow, sometimes you've just gotta make them.

I notice the other young one, who looks about Kili's age. Maybe a little older. He seems more careful, but there is a laughing quality about his eyes I like, and the same shy boldness that seems so contradictory on Kili's features lingers in his, although it is perhaps only a ghosting imitation. I wonder briefly if they are brothers, or at least very good friends.

Then I chance a look at Kili from under my eyelashes. My head is bent, so he won't be able to see me staring. It's an unnecessary precaution though, because he's too absorbed in his own staring ventures to notice much else. He's looking at my hands I think, swaying gently at my sides. I wonder what he's seeing.

Then suddenly brown eyes are on my green ones, and although I quickly sweep my gaze back to the ground in blushing annoyance, I can tell he saw me staring. Not that he can judge. Fool hasn't taken his eyes off me this whole wretched journey. I can feel his eyes on me even now, like heat. I look back at him again, unable to stop myself this time, although I lift my head for once and unashamedly shake my hair back out of my face as I stare. I see a smile play with his lips at my so-kill-me expression. I wonder if it makes his heart stutter. I hope it does.

I'm tempted to smile back, although by now he is already fighting the smile off his face and calming his features into a mask of non-emotion. I want to say something.

But I don't.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 (Morgan)

I have been here in this godforsaken forest in this godforsaken Middle Earth place for not even 3 hours, and as if arriving here was not enough, I have now faced Hobbits, Dwarves (including a particularly good looking one named Kili), an enchanted forest, giant man-eating spiders, and now elves.

What kind of fucked up fairy-tale am I in?

Elves on Middle Earth, I have discovered, are _nothing_ like our interpretation of them. Well, the spiders here aren't anything like they are back there either, or anything really, but for some reason it is these elves that _really_ take me by surprise. I don't know whether to be infuriated or thrilled.

To put it simply, they are _hot_. Holy hell, they are hot. Especially the blondie. His name is Legolas and he has very blue eyes, too blue to be real, but I can't very well accuse him of wearing coloured contacts as I usually would since I doubt such a thing exists in this world. He also has very blonde hair, a shade lighter than mine and nearly as long. Jesus, he's a _male elf_ and he's better looking than I am. However, he also has a distinct air of snobbery about him, aloofness too, which normally I might find endearing but on him it seems too proud, and maddeningly sophisticated. He also seems to be some kind of royalty. And he also seems to have a similar problem to Kili with regard to obnoxious staring. At me. Yet whilst Kili does this in a way that makes him seem so bewildered, as if he has no idea what I am or where I came from but he is acutely aware that he likes the sight of me, on Legolas it is much more pronounced. It is hard to describe, really, but Legolas is as bold as Kili is, and half as cute and reckless. I know spoilt asshole brat when I see one, and Legolas is ticking an awful lot of those boxes.

These thoughts somewhat lessen my initial attraction to him, which I find a relief, and I go back to wondering whether he would appeal to me more with tattoos. I decide not. I think I'll stick to Oli Sykes when I'm in the mood for conjuring some pretty tattooed band member hotness in my head.

Kili, on the other hand…

When did I start thinking about him again? I'd almost forgotten his name in all the chaos of the Mirkwood spiders and then these pretentious (although still annoyingly attractive) elves. But here I am again. He's walking beside a darker haired elf only a few feet away from me, who grips his shoulders tight and scowls in disdain. I don't know why he bothers. Kili looks so bored right now, almost amused. The initial display of bravado is gone, and in fact, none of the Dwarves struggle with the elves who warily walk around us, guiding us with a hand on each of our shoulders or back. He is looking at the young light haired dwarf at first, who now I am fairly certain is his brother. And then he looks back at me.

Beyond the point of caring what he thinks of me staring, I cock an eyebrow. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes are laughing louder than any voice. He glances down at the elf's stiff hand at his shoulder, then to his permanent and superior scowl, and then back at me with a smirk of his own. I feel my own eyes crinkle with an understanding curl of my lips, and I dare an eye-roll. Our unspoken communication is clear: _these elves are condescending bastards. _A real smile tugs at his lips now, which are full and perfect, revealing the briefest flash of white teeth.

A look from Legolas stops both of us. God, the pure cold disregard in his gaze could cut if I actually gave a shit about him.

He is extraordinarily beautiful though.

But it's okay. I've always had a thing for dark haired boys anyway.

It kind of goes without me saying that Kili has dark hair.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 (Kili)

Being locked up in cells under Thranduil's command could be a lot worse, despite the fact it's cold and dark down here and it's kind of a big inconvenience to our journey, what with having a deadline only a few d_ays_ away. That's more than a big inconvenience.

I have a cell right next door to Morgan.

Our cells are separated only by iron bars, and I watch warily from my position on the floor as she paces around the room, humming to herself. She's nervous. Something tells me she doesn't like being trapped. Well, I don't either, but at least I can sit here staring at her without feeling guilty about it because there is literally nothing else to look at.

She hums to herself as she paces, too soft for anyone to hear but me, although I do not recognize the tune. I never much had time for music. She sits down after a few more laps of the tiny cell, and hugs her knees to her chest. I look at how fair her legs are, flawless and pale in the darkness that's only made light by the slimmest streak of moonlight. She has stopped humming now, and rocks gently back and forth, arms still wrapped around her legs.

She's cold. I can see her shiver; almost feel the vibration in the air from it. She has no coat. I wonder if I can give her mine, but the gaps between the bars are too thin to fit my thick coat through. I sigh in exasperation, and she glances over at me in amusement. The way her lip quirks up at the side, curling just slightly, makes my insides squirm somewhat, although I manage a sly smile back at her. She opens her mouth to say something, and I can see two rows of tiny white teeth. But she never gets the chance, because the door of her cell opens, making both of us jump.

It's Legolas. And here I thought the bastard might finally leave us alone.

"I thought you might need something warmer."

His voice is serious and still possessive of that cold disdain that makes me scrunch my nose up in dislike. He appears so uninterested and aloof, but the kindness in his gesture is audible and I hate him for it. He hands her a coat – not his own, at least – and stares at her.

Oh please. I already called permission on staring at her. That's my job.

She's staring back, and her expression is unreadable. Her hand is on the coat, but she doesn't take it, and I can feel the unspoken question hover in the air of the cell. Why is he being so charitable to her? Surely it is not usual procedure for a prisoner to be given warmer clothes so they don't suffer. I doubt Thranduil would be particularly thrilled about Legolas handing out comforts to his prisoners.

Or just one of his prisoners. One who happens to be an extremely pretty and indescribably unusual girl. Ulterior motives? I wouldn't doubt it for a second.

Finally it registers on his face that she is asking him something, even though either of us have yet to hear her say a word. He's slow, isn't he? I can read her face quicker than she could actually talk, I'm sure of it.

"You're…not used to this world, and aren't dressed as we would be, so it is…natural…that prisoner or not, you should be given something more appropriate and comfortable for you."

I can't help the snide remark that comes out under my breath. "I didn't know comfort was a primary concern of you elves, especially regarding us lowly _prisoners."_

Legolas looks at me for a minute, a few blinks the only betrayal of thought on his face. Though she is now staring at the floor, I can see Morgan fighting a smirk off her face. Then he turns his gaze back to her in dismissal of me. "She is not from this world, nor has she committed any crime, yet she is locked up here for mere association with you. If you're questioning my actions, maybe you should question why you involved her in this mess in the first place." And then he drapes the coat around her shoulders without her response, and I know he has won.

Defeated, I just turn my head towards the ceiling with a sigh and scowl at all the little chips in the stone surface. Morgan is still watching Legolas curiously, I can see from the corner of my eye.

She cocks her head to one side, and the movement is so quick and unusual it somehow conjures the image of a bird examining a worm. I smile to myself. The minute her little pink mouth opens, I know Legolas is in for it.

"If you're so sure I don't belong in these cells with the rest of these…wrong-doers…then why don't you release me, or let me stay here in more desirable conditions?" Her voice has only the slightest edge to it, an edge from humour or contempt or anger, I can't quite tell. Her eyes are piercingly bright as she stares up at Legolas.

His brow furrows, clearly not expecting her to be so forward. She is not demanding as such…but she is by no means subtle. "My father would not allow it," he says, and this time his voice is less formal, and we can actually hear the emotion there.

"Perhaps if you asked very nicely," she said with a smirk that could be mistaken for flirtatious, but the look she shoots me just quickly if full with amusement. She likes making Legolas squirm in all awkwardness.

"If only it were that simple," he replies, and turns to leave, although his blue eyes still linger on Morgan.

"Maybe you're making it more complicated than you have to." Surely she does not mean to tease him so, but I can't help keep the laughter from my eyes at the way their exchange is turning out.

When he glances back, having reached the door of the cell, there is annoyance on his face, mingled with reluctant admiration. Funny, how someone as cold and boring as him can actually summon some decent emotion when he wants to. This amuses me too. "Maybe, but you cannot pretend you are making the situation any easier for me," he says, and his tone is final.

"Easy is boring," she mutters, under her breath, but both Legolas and I can clearly still hear, and she must know this.

Legolas has turned his back now, having shut the cell door behind him after a last exasperated shake of his head, to which Morgan flashes a cheeky grin. Her teeth are sharp and blinding, and the mock predatory feel of her expression is bewildering.

"Thanks for the coat!" she calls after him in a sing-song voice. I have to admire her then. I can't imagine any other female creature that could get under Legolas's skin so easily, and she does it almost half-heartedly. When she throws a gaze back at me, fierce and beautiful and half-laughing, I can't decide if I love her or hate her.


	6. Chapter 6

Ooopsy daisies, this is a pretty freaking short chapter. Apologies.

Chapter 6 (Kili)

I lose track of time after Legolas leaves, but it is a while before Morgan speaks up.

I do not expect to hear her clear voice ringing out across this space so devoid of noise and interaction, but it is just suddenly there, in my head, and for a moment I wonder if I am only dreaming the sound of it.

"Well we _could_ continue sitting here in complete and utter boredom until we rot,_ or_ you could actually try talking to me."

I look at her with raised eyebrows. She smirks, and it brings out a dimple in her cheek. I can't decide if she looks endearing or threatening. When I don't reply, her grin widens.

"It was just a suggestion," she shrugs, leaning back against the cold bars as though nothing were amiss.

I almost laugh. "What do you suggest we talk about?" I reply, "It's not as if we have anything in common at all."

She is looking over her shoulder at me now, back still facing me, and I can feel the strength of her eyes as she peeks out from behind her hair. "Well, ask me questions then. We can have an argument if you want. Debate. Anything's better than just sitting in silence."

"Maybe I like the peace and quiet," I say, checking her response.

She laughs. "I highly doubt that."

"Well if you know me so well, we shouldn't need to ask each other silly questions now, would we?" I'm waiting for her to contradict me. I do have questions, and I don't doubt that she is the same way.

"Maybe I like asking questions," she mimics, flashing me a reckless kind of grin. I return it.

"Ask ahead."

She doesn't even need to think before she plunges ahead. "The blonde one…the other young looking dwarf…he's your brother? Cousin? Childhood friend? And the leader – Thorin – are you related?"

I look at her curiously. I can't tell if she's just extremely perceptive or if I'm more of a giveaway than I thought. "You've had a lot of time to think, haven't you?" I ask rhetorically, although she nods her head with vigour. I smile. "The blonde one, as you called him, is my brother Fili. Thorin is our uncle."

She nods again, this time in satisfaction. "How long had you been traveling before I came?"

"Not more than a few weeks. It feels like less."

"How much longer do you have to go?"

This makes me smile. "Impatient, are we? The deadline's only a few days away."

She is unabashed. "Patience never was one of my strong points. What's your middle name?"

I think little of the seemingly random nature of her questions. "Don't have one."

"Do you have a family?"

I wince. She nods again, and I forget the momentarily awkwardness by how cute she looks. The fierceness from before, the teasing, that's all gone now, and I'm left with a strange, giddy creature, with a fast talking pace and a whole lot of questions.

The next question follows straight after. "Do you like music? Art? Books? Do these things even exist over here?"

I am stopped short for a moment. "Of course. Not that I've ever really had time for any of them."

I am unaware of any movement happening, but she is somehow sitting directly opposite now, cross-legged and no longer turned to the side. The look she throws me is pitying, and I instantly flinch at the emotion. "I like music," I say defensively.

The smirk is back on her face as she looks me up and down. "Bet you'd have a heart attack if you heard _my_ music."

"Should I be afraid to ask what this music of yours entails?"

"Be terrified," she smiles. "But go ahead. Ask."


End file.
